Life before cable. Photo by Getty Images.

I canceled my cable a few months ago. It had to be done—my Cablevision bill was $124.67 a month. But you can’t expect a girl to live without TV: If you prick me, do I not bleed? Yes, I can stream many, many things on my laptop, but I have a lovely—and massive—32” Sony Trinitron across from my couch. Also, I have the bad habit of checking my email while I’m watching things, and that’s hard to do when everything is happening on one screen.

With a little maneuvering, however, I’m getting most of my favorite programs and an almost unlimited trove of films for roughly $18 a month, which means I’m saving around $1,250 a year. Read on for my easy three-step-no-cable survival strategy.

Step 1: I got a converter box. I was one of those 13.5 million American households with an antenna, but, after staring at static for a couple of days after the big digital changeover on June 12, it occurred to me that I was one of those confused people I kept reading about in the news. The government-issued coupon for  $40 off a new analog-to-digital converter box is still available at DTV2009.gov through July 31 (you can even use the coupon online at sites like http://tinyurl.com/tvbox). With the antenna (and the converter), I can get all the basic channels, which is nice if only because I often like to veg out to the low hum of the news or Law & Order. I do feel a little nostalgic when I think about my old DVR, but if I really want to record Dancing with the Stars, I can set my VCR. Yes, I actually know how.

NB: If I had a digital TV instead of the CRT Sony Trinitron behemoth, I wouldn’t need a converter box to get basic channels. Of course, with a digital TV, I’d also be able to get a decent picture just by hooking up my computer –then I could just stream stuff from Hulu.com or Justin.TV. But a new set currently isn’t in my budget.

Step 2: I bought a Roku box from Netflix. Roku is a bagel-sized box that you plug into your TV. It streams your Netflix “Watch Instantly” cue right to the TV, via wireless. It’s amazing. To paraphrase Tracy Morgan, I want to take it behind the school and make it pregnant. It’s amazing. Did I already say that? Not everything on Netflix can be fed to my little Roku, but tons of movies and shows are available—and there is no limit to how many things you can have queued up at a time, or how long you can keep them.

In the past few weeks, I’ve watched Murder By Death, Singin’ In The Rain, Thieves’ Hideaway, The Visitor, Tootsie, The Office: Season 1 … You just select what you want using a cute little remote. My Film Forum-loving, Criterion Collection-obsessed boyfriend makes excited “ooh ooh” sounds when scrolling through all the possible options. What’s more, without ever touching your computer you can use the remote to buy “new release” films as well as episodes from the current season of many TV shows (they do this through a partnership with Amazon). My only complaint is that they don’t offer The Daily Show or The Colbert Report. So those I usually watch online. Still: Amazing!

The box itself is a one-time purchase: I got it for $99—which, amortized over the course of a year, is $8.25 a month. (The Xbox and several other devices work as well, but Roku is the cheapest option). You have to also have at least the bottom-of-the-line Netflix subscription. That costs $8.99 a month. I still use the old in-the-mail service when there’s something I can’t get on Roku, but my cheap-o plan only gets me only one DVD at a time.

Step 3: I go to the library a lot. On occasion, Roku falls short. Case in point: It doesn’t offer The Wire. Regular Netflix has it, but if I want more than one disc at a time, my Netflix doesn’t work. So, I go to the library’s online catalog.

A lot of New Yorkers have recently caught onto this publicly funded Netflix-like system: The Brooklyn Public Library says that DVD checkouts have risen nearly 10 percent in the last year. At The New York Public Library, which serves Manhattan, Staten Island and The Bronx, it’s been closer to 20 percent.

Indeed, it works a lot like Netflix (so much so that there’ve long been rumors that the NYC library branches are going to partner with Netflix). Once you request the DVDs you want online, you pick what branch you want the disk sent to, and then you pick it up–you don’t have to return it to the same branch where you got it. You’re allowed 10 at a time. You might have to place a “hold,” but I’ve never had to wait for anything longer than a week.  The Brooklyn Public Library has 123,000 discs circulating through its 60 branches. I’ve had more luck finding titles at The New York Public Library, which has more than 455,000 DVDs in its system. I also think their online interface is easier to use.

At my local library—the Bedford branch of the Brooklyn Public Library—the librarian reports that few patrons go to the DVD shelves simply to browse; most people make their requests ahead of time online. The selection of non-reserved items at any one branch is a mixed bag, but on my last visit to the Bedford branch, there were about 300 DVDs to choose from, including a handful of ones I can imagine renting: Away From Her, Rebecca, The Godfather Part II (Remastered), The Apartment. There were also some relatively new releases, like the Sex and The City movie and Get Smart. And Teens, Dating & Abstinence.

Thanks to the library, I watched three seasons of The Wire this spring. I could’ve gotten each disc one-at-a-time from Netflix, but I didn’t want to wait that long between episodes. Library DVDs can be kept for a week. If no one else requests your disc, you can renew and renew and renew (you can do it on the phone or online—it’s easy). Nevertheless, my Wire habit cost me about $20 in late fees. But that’s only because I got them from the New York Public Library, which has $1-per-day overdue fine. It would’ve been twice as much at our borough’s branches: they charge a whopping $2-a-day. Manhattan wins this round. But who knows what they charge for cable over there…

Her explanation? The guy she was planning on seeing Saturday night had requested this particular getup for their rendezvous.

I imagined her closet next door must be bursting with French maid outfits and teddies purchased in more flush times—outfits that were probably being sported more than ever, thanks to all her newfound free time and the desire for any kind of distraction from despair. Truth be told, this postulation made me feel a little jealous. I have a lovely—and very willing—boyfriend who lives just a couple of neighborhoods away, but, thanks to poverty-induced depression, my libido has recently waned. Yet I’ve figured that I’m the pathetic exception, surrounded by countless creative, vibrant Brooklynites busy giving debauchery a good name. Right?

In this time of empty pockets and frozen dinners, it seems like a good old romp must be the perfect distraction. Sex is cheap, it’s fun, it’s good exercise, and even can provide some form of caloric intake (hey—you’ve thought about it, too).  That’s why I’ve been walking around looking at Brooklyn as if it were one big horny beast right now covered with so many libidinous ants: laid-off junior execs staying in bed ‘til noon, hipsters skipping the $7 cocktails at Enids in favor of McCarren Park makeout sessions and brown-bagged cans of Pabst, cubicle dwellers-turned-wannabe novelists brushing hands as they reach to plug in their iBook cords at the Tea Lounge.  Because that’s the reality, right?

Sort of. Not really. Not tonight.

Illustration by Kim Herbst

As Stephanie and I sewed and talked, it soon became clear to me that she hadn’t seen this guy in months. The making of this outfit (purchased for a grand total of $18—not including the shoplifted blazer) was providing more distraction than anything she’d been finding in her bedroom.  Most nights, the only noise I hear on the other side of our joint wall is the TV.

Bikini waxes, contraception, Match.com fees, alcohol, laundered sheets—there can be a lot of ancillary costs to having a good sex life, and they add up. But even when money isn’t the deciding factor, it’s easy to be too tired after working two crapola jobs or to spiral into bouts of despair that can take hacksaws to desire. Yes, Craigslist’s Casual Encounters is free, but so are a lot of creepy, formerly incarcerated people– it was recently reported that  Brooklyn neighborhoods are home to the highest concentration of sex offenders in all of New York—yeesh.

“Places are dropping their covers and offering loads of drink specials. It feels like the debauchery has risen to a new level,” says Kate, a 26-year-old musician. “But I’ve been focused on things other than sex and dating lately—keeping my job, thinking of new ways to make money, etc.”

“My sex life is in a deep recession,” says my friend Denise, a 31-year-old mother in Bay Ridge who is doing around-the-clock childcare for her toddler while her husband works extra hours. An editor at a Manhattan news service, he’s been putting in 70-hour weeks doing the work that was left by all the folks who were let go in his department. “On the rare nights when I actually see him, he’s wiped out or I’m exhausted from raising our child basically alone and managing a household single-handedly,” she says. “Feeling like you’re at the epicenter of a storm is hardly conducive to romance.”

Could it be possible that this isn’t just a local phenomenon? Consumer Reports’ joins the ranks of those imagining all the great sex that’s going on out there…but then they go onto report what seems like the opposite. Under the heading “Economy isn’t hurting Americans’ sex lives,” they recently published a poll of 1000 adults; 5 percent of them reported having more sex than they did last year, the magazine’s summary pointed out. I’m not a statistician, but doesn’t that leave 950 people who aren’t doing quite that well? The supposedly hopeful summary goes on to point out that “insomnia and poor health could be taking a toll.” Nothing like exhaustion and a touch of cholera to get me feeling randy…

Still, walking down Bedford Avenue on Friday nights, I’ve been guilty of imagining that all the hipper-than-thou young people going at it like bunnies behind every window, skipping out on the costly formalities of dating and going straight home to their futons. But a random sampling of those young people didn’t inspire much confidence.

Keith, a 24-year-old living in Williamsburg, tells me that losing one of his part-time jobs in January means that he can’t splurge on airfare to visit his boyfriend, who lives in Atlanta. “It’s been three months now since I’ve seen him last,” he says. “We’ve learned to embrace the art of phone sex…but only when we can take advantage of free minutes on nights and weekends.” Still, neither of their phones has been ringing off the proverbial hook. “By the time it gets to the end of the day, we’re usually either too exhausted or too grumpy to open the sex flood gate.”

Kate, a fellow Williamsburgian who is 26 and a musician, knows what I mean about feeling convinced that there must be a lot of sex happening out there. “Places are dropping their covers and offering loads of drink specials. It feels like the debauchery has risen to a new level,” she says. But her own personal experience? She jokingly uses the word “frigid” to describe herself of late. “I’ve been focused on things other than sex and dating lately. Keeping my job, thinking of ways to make additional money, etc. The anxiety has caught up with me from time to time, and I’m sure that it’s been making me blind to potentially lovely opportunities. It’s also gotten me to go out less, in a desperate attempt to save money.  I’m sort of stuck having one-on-one time with my closest pals, which is gratifying, but it’s not helping me to meet other people that I could have a romantic relationship with.”

“Roommates!” says Rosie, 33, a former copyeditor who now spends her days hitting the “refresh” button on JournalismJobs.com. “I couldn’t afford to live alone, so I moved into this place with three other girls. The walls are like paper, and I get paranoid they’d hear the bed squeak if I ever had anyone over. But I started taking Prozac after I got laid off and it’s pretty much zapped my interest in sex anyway. I see people being sexy on TV and I think, “I don’t remember what that feels like…and I don’t really care.” Isn’t that sad?”

Sad indeed. Sad like a titty bar that is surviving on donations—last week EffedinParkSlope.com reported that Lucky 13 Saloon, the stripper club, sent regular patrons a link to a Paypal account and a plea for help.

But here’s a mood elevator:  Babeland on Bergen Street has been offering free workshops each month. They report that sales of the affordable stuff—that’s you, vibrating ducky—are down and people are instead investing in more expensive high quality, longer lasting items.

Who is buying these things? Perhaps it’s double-income households? Indeed, people who’ve long been coupled seem to be faring slightly better—those who are no longer courting (or tomcatting) and have settled into the huggily-snuggily Netflix-ing stage of a relationship and are weathering the storm a deux.

Audrey, a thirty-something makeup artist in Brooklyn Heights, has been falling in love all over again with her boyfriend ever since he got laid-off. “Now that he’s home, we’re doing more outdoorsy things like riding bikes, taking long walks, exploring new neighborhoods,” she says. “We are organizing and clearing out the junk in our apartment, and he’s making an effort to cook meals when I’m at work late. It all feels less rushed and more balanced on some level, and I think that makes us in the mood more often…”

Abigail, a writer in Crown Heights who is also in her thirties, was hit with a 20-percent pay cut last winter, but it’s drawn her closer to her live-in boyfriend. “We’re more conscious about our budget,” she says. “It’s forced us to work together to reduce our spending, and has challenged him to be more willing to help with cleaning and cooking, and therefore has improved our relationship—I don’t feel like the mom, maid and secretary so much any more. I have more time to feel like his sex kitten.”

But for those who aren’t in these kinds of safe, domesticated (and childless) coupleships, just ruminating on coitus might have to do for now.

So it goes with Stephanie: Mr. Saturday night? He never showed.

Read more from Anna Jane Grossman at ObsoleteTheBook.com, and see more of Kim Herbst’s illustrations at www.kimherbst.com.

The waxing station.

Charming Nails is a little storefront at 348 Classon Ave., about ten paces from the Classon Stop on the G. My waxer was a smiley forty-something Asian woman named Kina who donned a red-gingham apron emblazoned with a giant teddy bear. She took me into a small room which was decorated with one poster showing the scenic vistas of Denmark and another showing a close up of a French manicure. The waxes, which were covered with lids made from paper plates, were, kept in two small pots atop a table that was protected from drippings thanks to taped-down Anne Klein ads from fashion magazines.

Kina stayed in the room as I readied myself. “You’re beautiful!” she shouted. (Not to brag, but  it wasn’t the first time someone has uttered these words to me after I’ve dropped my pants…). She then used a spare white waxing cloth–a non-used one, I assume–to tie a bow to cinch together the front of my underwear. I was a little worried when I didn’t see her get out a new Popsicle stick for applying the wax, but maybe she’d replaced the old one right before I entered the room? After applying the wax, but before taking the first tug, Kina shoved something into my hand: three butterscotch candies.

“Okay!” she said. And then, like an ER physician applying defibrillator paddles to a patient’s chest, she yelled “Clear!”

The next few minutes were painful. Waxing is always painful, but this was really painful. Maybe this is because I usually splurge and spend on the “sensitive skin” wax that is often offered at more mid-level places, but Kina didn’t give me this option. So I just bit down on my hand candy, and told myself that there are more important things in life than having an intact vagina. When she finished the right side, Kina yelled “Yes!” She was clearly impressed with her own work. She then moved onto the left side. She too seemed to be a master at frugal living: Instead of reaching for a new strip of cloth, she just used the other side of the one she’d been using. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I closed my eyes, which is why I didn’t catch site of whether she threw out the stick when she was all done or put it back in the vat…

Design-wise, I wasn’t asked if I wanted a strip or a triangle. Kina just sort of split the difference and gave me a slightly lopsided oval. As I walked to the front of the place to pay, I realized that there was still some wax down there. Let’s just say that things were sticking to other things. When I got home, I also found a couple of leftover white threads attached to me here and there. I wasn’t told there’d be souvenirs.

While I probably won’t head back to Classy Nails any time soon,  I won’t rule out trying out some of the other cheap-o waxing options in the area… if only because I like butterscotch. Here are a few inexpensive places in other Brooklyn nabes:

Bay Ridge ($10)
Bay Ridge Nail Salon, 7510 13th Ave., 718-680-9655‎

Flatbush ($10)
Design A&J Nail Inc., 1015 Cortelyou Rd.. 718-462-8526

Carroll Gardens ($11)
Jin Beauty Nail, 438 Court St., 718-625-3065

Greenpoint ($12)
Nail Plus, 991 Manhattan Ave., 718-383-5583

Gravesend ($9)
King Nail Beauty Salon,  1690 East 15th St., 718-645-2384

Mill Basin ($10)
Lotus Nails, 5821 Ave N., 718-531-7328

Sheepshead Bay ($10)
European Beauty Center, 1722 Jerome Ave., 718-646-1293

Read more from Anna Jane Grossman at www.annajane.net.